Memories Made
by ImThatTypeOfGirl
Summary: How can intelligent Michelle Dixon possibly get through a four-year course at the Rattmann University for the Intellectually Gifted when she's so busy looking after her crazy-amazing room mates and staying out of Gladys Johnson's warpath? Where was the serene study life she had imagined? Portal 2 AU, Chelley x
1. Just Call Me Chell

**A/N: So I've had this idea for like a year, seriously, but it's taken me so long to get it in writing I thought I'd never manage to post _any_ of it x But here's the first chapter, alive and kicking, and I really hope you all like it. It's basically a University AU, set in England, where all our favourite Portal characters are studying. Leave a review please, to let me know what you think - and maybe you can drop a guess as to who everyone is meant to be? x **

**Disclaimer: Portal 2 and all of its characters belong to Valve, but you knew that already.**

**P.S - Expect slow updates, these chapters are b*tches to finish. But they're worth it! Please bear with me, you will be well rewarded ;) Also, Wheatley does not have his adorable stutter at the start. You'll see why once I've posted the rest of this xx**

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**PORTAL 2: MEMORIES MADE**

**Chapter 1 – Just Call Me Chell**

The building _definitely_ looked smaller on the website.

The Rattmann University for the Intellectually Gifted looms before me like a brewing storm above a tiny western town. It's cool, white-panelled walls and massive blue-glass windows seem out of place amongst the rolling green hills of the English countryside. It is strangely angular; there are triangular structures and roofs coming out of the sides of the building in a haphazard sort of way, but they almost look like they fit. Students mill about the snaking pathways leading to and from the construction, tablets and touch-screen computers balanced in their arms.

In the surrounding grounds there are several lecture theatres in the same modern white-panelled style and then a few more buildings for practical lessons scattered throughout them. In the distance I can glimpse white-tiled cube-shaped buildings with that same futuristic flair, used for student accommodation. I gulp.

As soon as I step out of the taxi, dragging my suitcase behind me and hefting my rucksack higher on my shoulder, it drives away up the winding country road and disappears out of sight. If I'd turned around I would have seen a set of massive mountains towering over the University grounds, their peaks grazing the soft blue sky. But my eyes are set on the 'New student? Over here!' sign pinned up to a stall in front of the main building. I hurry over, quite a crowd already gathered around the table.

I stand at the back of the meeting, all newcomers judging by their bulging suitcases and worried expressions. Also, if they weren't, they wouldn't be standing here in the first place. That one was kinda obvious. I sigh, biting my nails as I join the group waiting for someone to show up and tell us where to go and what to do.

A guy pulls up his bags next to me; he's tall and thin, with a mess of spiky dark blonde hair and soft blue eyes. He wears an open-neck dress shirt the colour of his eyes and a pair of tight jeans that are just a little darker. He has a cute pair of black specks balanced on the bridge of his nose, which he has stuck in a seriously thick book. It's titled '_Abstract Algebra and Its Ties to Modern Physics_'. I'd read that last Summer; it was a bit amateur for me, really. Hoping to make friends sooner or later, I try to catch his eye. Maybe we can start a conversation on his book? Hopefully he knows some sign language.

"Hi," he says, meeting my gaze. He tucks the book away in a knapsack hanging down from one shoulder and holds out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Charles Wheaton, but everyone just calls me Wheatley."

I smile and take his hand. **It's really nice to meet you**, I sign when we stop. He blinks in surprise and takes a moment before nodding in understanding.

"You're deaf?" he asks, mouthing excessively.

**Nah, **I 'say', giggling and shaking my head. **I'm mute.**

"Ah, okay," he tilts his head, wincing slightly. "Sorry."

**That's okay; **I try to lighten the mood. **So you know some sign language then?**

He laughs. "Yeah, quite a bit actually. What's your name?"

**Michelle**, I say, smiling. **But you can call me Chell for short.**

He shakes my hand again, his other resting on the handle of his big navy blue suitcase. "Pleasure's all mine. What're you studying here?"

**Molecular Transportation and reversing gravity's pull - in short words.** I roll my eyes. **You?**

"Mine's not quite that impressive," he runs a hand through his dark blonde locks and laughs. "I'm taking a degree in Computing Science and Mathematics, specializing in the Fibonacci sequence of numbers."

**The guy with the rabbits?** I raise an eyebrow.

He grins. "Unfortunately, yeah."

There is sudden lull in the murmur of the crowd as a woman in a crisp white lab coat and black heels walks up behind the stall. Wheatley and I turn our attention to the front, where the woman clears her voice to speak. Everyone's nervous gaze is trained on her, but she doesn't look the least bit flustered, even after being late. In fact, she looks almost bored.

"Good afternoon," she says, and her tone is hard and flat. "Welcome to Rattmann University, where we look forward to you spending your next four years studying with us here. You receive your timetables and dorm room keys in a little while at the end of our tour. Now, if you could all follow me…"

She moves across the campus and we trail after her, bewildered, heaving our luggage across the neatly trimmed grass. As we walk I notice a tall girl with a dyed platinum blonde bob-cut as she heads the group. She doesn't have a suitcase, or luggage of any kind, only a sleek new touch-screen phone clutched tight in her hands, fingers dancing across the surface. She's wearing a tight white dress that looks like it's made out of PVC, and comes up in a turtleneck at the top but is cut off at the arms. Thin black tights encase her long, slender legs. Under her thick shadowy eyeliner she has two different coloured eyes; one is a stormy grey, the other is vibrant yellow. Clearly she's wearing contacts. My gaze travels down to her feet; she's thrown on some killer black stilettoes, and I wince at their height. I'd never dream of squeezing into a pair like that.

Wheatley notices her too and leans down to murmur in my ear as we walk. "I'm pretty sure that's Gladys Johnson – though that isn't her original name. Her dad owns Aperture Science, the company who funds the research at the University. She's a total bitch; she thinks because she's rich and pretty and her dad is a hot-shot businessman she can get anything she wants."

I snort and attempt to sign one-handed as we walk, as my right hand is pulling my suitcase after me. **Is she even smart enough to study here?**

"Oh yeah," Wheatley nods, biting his lip. "Don't get me wrong; she's a backstabbing cow but she's got brains. She's studying Computing Science too; I'm pretty sure of that, so I'm stuck with her for the next four years of my life."

I wince in sympathy. **Ouch, tough luck.**

He smiles sadly. "Yeah, well, there's not much I can do about it anyway."

Our group of new students finally reach a small, squat grey building off of the University grounds. It is ugly and gaunt compared to the sleek white architectural masterpieces of the main University and lecture theatres. We all gather round the woman in the lab coat, who has turned to face us now as if she's guarding the door inside.

"Now," she begins, in her same droning monotone. "If you look to your right you can see the student accommodation at the bottom of the slopes here," – we do as instructed – "and if you look to you left you can see the mountain ranges known as 'Lost Projects'." She stares at us for a moment before continuing. "Behind us are the University grounds; here you can find the main building of the University- which includes our famous library used for your studies, several lecture theatres where you will be given the relevant information on your courses, and the practical suites."

I sneak a peek at the buildings behind me; they're like gleaming white sheep scattered across the grass, connected by wide grey-gravel pathways that a number students are already walking. My attention quickly returns to the woman at the front as she begins speaking again.

"Behind me is the Student Information building. Myself and two of my colleagues work here to provide you with necessary information on how to best complete your studies here at Rattmann University. If you have any questions about your stay here do not hesitate to ask."

She stops and glares at us, daring someone to raise their hand. No-one makes a sound, and her face relaxes into an odd sort of satisfied smile. "Alright then. If you could line up single file we will provide you with your new timetable, a leaflet on essentials, a University map and the key to your new dorm room."

Our gathering does as asked and soon Wheatley and I file into the small grey building. Inside it is just as dull as the outside; plain tiled walls and floors, a once-white couch and dying fern plant tucked away in a corner. Two men sit behind desks against the left hand wall, waiting to pass us our little bundles of information and then politely ask us to make our way out again. When I join Wheatley outside once more we compare room numbers.

**Apartment 7, Room 3, **I say, signing out the label on the key.

"Apartment 7, Room 6," he says, showing me the near-identical information on his key tag. "We're in the same building!"

Sighing, we grab our luggage and prepare to haul it over to our new home. I absentmindedly wonder who else will be in our building as we follow the nearest pathway to the student accommodation, hefting my rucksack higher on my shoulder and feeling the weight of my textbooks bounce off my back. Glancing behind me I see Wheatley do the same, his book on abstract algebra poking out of his backpack. I smile. It's nice to have made such a good friend on my first day here.

We finally reach the cube-shaped structure. It's constructed in the same sleek white panelling as all the other buildings and the door is made of a double-glazed sliding glass panel. A small red light scans our eyes as we approach and then flashes green, signalling that it's alright for us to enter. Stepping inside, we go through a small grey porch before we are actually _in_ our apartment.

I actually gasp out loud at how different it looks. Instead of the futuristic, shiny white walls I'd expected it is a warm cream painted room with a beige carpet running across the floor. It is furnished with lavish sofas and messy brown-fur bean bags, positioned in a rectangle around the centre of the room where a glass coffee table crouches. There is a massive game station hooked up to a small power generator on the far wall. My eyes linger on the collection of gaming platforms littered about the floor underneath multiple flat screen TVs; I'd have to try them out once I got settled. A petite kitchen area is nestled in the corner to my right; a range cooker and double-door fridge squeezing in between fat little kitchen units. To my left is a circular wooden dining table, presumably where'd I'd be eating my meals with my dorm mates.

"Where are our rooms?" Wheatley says, and I jump in shock when I realise what he's just said. There are no doors on the walls (no windows either, but there's white strip lights fitted into the ceiling and they're as bright as sunlight anyway). Where _are_ our rooms…if they have no doors?

**I don't know**, I sign, looking round in confusion. I haul my suitcase after me as I walk around the rectangle of couches and I stop when I see_ why_ they're in that shape. On floor at the edge of the room, following the shape of the building we're in, are eight heavy metal trapdoors set into the floor. Each have a number painted in white on their faces…and a key hole also set into the front.

**Hey**, I say, straightening up as Wheatley comes round to see what I've discovered**. I think I just found our rooms.**

"They're…in the _ground_," he says, stating the obvious. I roll my eyes.

**I'm Room 3**, I sign and make my way round the numbered trap door. **I guess I'll see you in a bit?**

Wheatley nods, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "Yeah. It's only an hour until dinner, and the University provides it so it won't be late. See you then, Chell."

I smile and bend down to unlock my door, hearing Wheatley do the same across the room. The trapdoor is ridiculously heavy; I spend a while wrenching it open before dropping my suitcase down the hatch and following suit.

I find myself standing a small, square room with a bed pushed against the far right wall. It has the same gleaming white walls as the main buildings above, and a soft white carpet. An artistically styled white desk and lamp stand on my left, huddled up against a tall wardrobe of the same modern flair. Everything is so bright, so _white_. Even the bedcover is a soft sort of grey. I sigh and drag my suitcase to the wardrobe, throwing my clothes inside and then stacking my textbooks on the desk to the left. I chuck my bag under my bed and then stand up straight, stretching out my back which had been bent forward at an awkward angle trying to pull my suitcase all the way here.

I notice a door to the right of the ladder leading back up to the living room. Opening it, I find a neat little bathroom tucked away inside; a skinny shower, toilet squashed at the back and sink with an overhanging cabinet near the entrance. Simple, but it'll do. I turn and move back into my bedroom, sitting on my bed and staring blankly at the snowy walls opposite.

I'm scared. I don't know if I'll fit in here; sure, Wheatley's been nice enough but what about my new dorm mates? What if they don't like me? And Gladys Johnson…she practically oozes trouble. I sigh and bury my head in my hands. I just have to get through four years here and then…freedom? Something like that, I guess. I sit here for a while and mull my thoughts over, concentrating hard on burying my fears. I'm roused from the mess of my own mind by a soft knock on my trapdoor.

"It's Chell, isn't it?" A female voice asks. I jump up, nodding, but realise she can't actually see me. "Dinner's here! Oh, I wonder what they have…?" muffled footsteps sound above my head; I can pick out at least three pairs. If one is Wheatley, then the other two must be newcomers. I square my shoulders and climb the ladder, ready to meet them as I open the hatch above me.

"Hey, need a hand?"

I look up; a guy offers his well-muscled arm down towards mine. I nod in answer to his question; he helps me up before shutting the trapdoor afterward. I immediately spot Wheatley busying about in the kitchen, while an unfamiliar girl lounges on one of the cream couches. She must have been the one who called me for dinner.

"Hi!" she smiles, looking up as I move towards her.

I wave back. **What's your name?**

"I'm Catherine Taylor," she says, standing up and moving to shake my hand. She glances back at Wheatley and then winks at me. "Charles told me you were mute?"

"I told you that you can call me Wheatley," he calls from the kitchen, a slight untone of irritation in his voice.

I study her while she debates the topic with him. She has soft blonde hair, flowing in gentle waves around her face and shoulders. Her brown eyes sparkle with curiosity, and her laugh is warm and kind. She's wearing a daffodil yellow dress and beige sandals, and smells of flowers in summer.

"Catherine can be a handful," says the muscular guy who helped me earlier, coming to stand beside me. "But she's really nice once you get to know her."

I snatch a glance at his face; strong jaw bones, arched blonde brows to match his ruffled blonde hair. His eyes, too, are a chocolate brown, and my own grey ones widen as I piece together the similarities in the two people I have just met. I glance from Catherine to the man standing next to me and then smile as I finally work it out.

**Are you Catherine's brother?** I ask.

He nods, taking my outstretched hand in a warm welcome. "We're twins. My name is Sam, and you're…Michelle, is it?"

**Chell**, I say, shortening it. **Call me Chell**.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, smiling.

**Likewise**, I reply. **How do you all know sign language so well? It's unusual for me not to have to try and mouth everything I'm saying.**

"Catherine and I took a course in it at high school," he admits, as we make our way over to inspect our dinner in the kitchen. "Wheatley says he learnt it one summer, a while back."

By now the enticing aroma of hot vegetable soup is wafting from a large bowl on the counter. Catherine is helping Wheatley to empty two ladleful's into eight separate dishes, set out along the worktop. The remaining is stored away in the fridge.

**Has anyone else arrived yet?** I ask Sam, as we take our dinner from where Catherine has laid it out and move to sit at the dining table.

"No," Sam answers, sitting himself at the circular table and gesturing for me to take a seat next to him. "I don't think - wait, there _was_ a girl who dumped her bags and then left, but I haven't seen her since."

**Okay**, I sign, smiling, and reach for a spoon in the centre of the table to begin my meal. Wheatley and Catherine join us; already deep in conversation about the book I had seen him reading earlier. Apparently Catherine is very interested in what it was about. But before any of us can start eating, the door to our apartment opens and a young woman walks in. I vaguely notice that night has fallen outside as the doors slide shut behind her, but I'm focusing mainly on her beaming face.

"Hi!" she says brightly, moving to collect her soup from the counter. "Sorry I couldn't stop and chat earlier, I had some stuff to do."

Sam waves his hand absently. "No worries."

"I'm Catriona Coleman," she smiles, sitting down with us at the table. "But you can just call me C.C., if you want to."

Catriona's hazel eyes light up as she speaks and I find myself enjoying everyone's company. Perhaps this wasn't as scary as I'd made it out to be. Catriona's short and spiky candy-pink locks fit her spunky personality, and her tank top mirrors the colour of her outrageous hair. She's wearing dark grey combat jeans and her hands are covered in minor scrapes and gashes. I frown, wondering what she's taking her course in if her hands look like this.

"I'm Catherine Taylor," the blonde introduces herself from next to Wheatley. "And this is my brother, Sam. Have you got any siblings? Can we meet them?"

"Slow down, Cathy!" Sam chuckles. "Sorry, C.C., she tends to get a little nosy at times with her constant questioning. You feel like you're getting interrogated every time you say hello!"

Our group laughs and continue with the introductions, supping our soup every spare breath. "I'm Charles Wheaton," Wheatley pipes up. "But you can call me Wheatley; everyone does."

Catriona nods, smiling. "And you?"

It takes a moment for me to realise that everyone is looking my way. I quickly sign out my name.

"She's mute," explains Wheatley, quietly. I feel a twinge of sadness when I hear the pity in his voice; I don't want - or need - his sympathies, I'm coping just fine on my own. Can't he see that?

"Ah," says Catriona, nodding toward me. "I know a little sign language, though you'll have to teach me some more so we can talk properly."

**Sure, if you're up for it**, I say, grinning. Wheatley quickly translates for me.

We continue our conversation through dinner and then well into the evening. I didn't get to try out the gaming platforms like I'd hoped, but I still have several weeks before the University actually begins our courses so Sam promised me a competition tomorrow. It turns out Catriona is taking a degree in Weapons Technology and First Aiding; that explains the cuts and scars on her hands. Sam is studying Computing Science and Astrology– a topic which interests his sister greatly – and she is taking advanced Computing Science and Graphic Technology. It seems like everyone is working with computers but me – will _anyone_ be studying what I am?

I'm finding new things about my dorm mates with every passing hour, and beginning to like them even more. There are still three rooms unoccupied; I wonder when the others will arrive? I lay in bed that night contemplating the events of the day. I found my way around the grounds, unpacked my luggage into my odd ice-white room and made some interesting new friends. I suppose, for a mute on her first day at the Rattmann University for the Intellectually Gifted, it had gone quite well.


	2. A Quiet Sunday

**A/N: Just the next chapter, since nothing much happens in the first. Drop a comment with your guess as to who the characters are meant to be ;) I've left little hints in their names! x**

******Disclaimer: Portal 2 and all of its characters belong to Valve, but you knew that already.**

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**PORTAL 2: Memories Made **

**Chapter 2 – A Quiet Sunday**

I wake in the early morning to a heavy pounding on my trapdoor.

"Chell, wake up, breakfast has been delivered!"

It has been two weeks now since I started at the Rattmann University. I've got thoroughly used to my dorm mates: thoughtful Sam, ever-curious Catherine, kind Wheatley and headstrong Catriona. The three spare rooms of our apartment still haven't been filled yet, but there's another week before classes start. I had several PS3 competitions with Sam; turns out he's as keen a gamer as I am. I went out to the nearest town (ten miles away!) to shop with Catherine and I studied in my room with Wheatley. But I spend the most time with C.C.; her fearlessness and daring never ceases to amaze me.

But today is supposed to be a quiet day. Catherine and Sam are going away for most of the late morning and afternoon to the nearest swimming pool for a dip, and C.C. is off as well – though so far she hasn't said where. So it's just Wheatley and I. Sunday…I'm planning on just lounging around in my pyjamas all day.

Rubbing my eyes to clear away the bleariness of sleep I stumble across the room and turn on the light. Snatching my white dressing gown from the wardrobe – not wanting to go upstairs with my alarmingly orange nightclothes visible, looking like I'd just escaped from prison – I tie it around myself and then dart into the bathroom. The girl in the mirror above the sink looks a mess; her cheeks flushed, hair in disarray, small smudges of mascara under her silvery grey eyes. I gape in horror at my reflection and frantically scrub the remaining makeup off my face, pull my rebellious black locks into a high ponytail and then thoroughly wash my cheeks and forehead. Satisfied, I climb the ladder for breakfast.

Sam, in pale orange shorts and t-shirt and Catherine in her usual vibrant yellow colours, are sitting together on one of the couches, munching bowls of cereal in front of the TV. C.C. is sprawled forwards across the floor in a pink strappy top and grey shorts, eating a dish of fresh pineapple and mangoes while Wheatley is moving about in the kitchen in an adorable blue dressing gown, fetching a cup of coffee from the cappuccino machine.

I wave as I clamber out of my room, locking the hatch behind me and slipping the key into my pocket. Wheatley looks up from his cup and smiles in greeting.

"Breakfast is here," he says brightly, gesturing to the selection of fruit, porridge and cereals scattered across the worktops. "Take your pick."

I move around behind the rectangle of couches, waving in return to the greetings I get from the rest of my dorm mates, and join Wheatley in the kitchen. He's got a half-finished plate of apple slices and red grapes on his left and is sipping his coffee, looking at me with his optimistic blue eyes. I ponder my choice of foodstuffs before settling on a bowl of hot porridge, a thick layer of syrup smeared on top.

"Catriona says the University is holding a welcome party for the first years this weekend coming," Wheatley says, and C.C. nods in agreement. "To celebrate us starting our courses next Monday."

"Yeah," she snorts, laughing. "Like that's anything to celebrate. I saw the sign in on one of the stalls outside the University building on my morning run. Saturday night, eight until two. You up for it, Chell?"

I nod enthusiastically; it's been ages since I've been to a party. **Is everyone else going?** I sign to the rest of the room. They nod back in agreement.

"I'm so excited!" chirrups Catherine, finishing her cereal and dancing across the room to the kitchen before popping her bowl in the sink. "I wonder what I should wear? What are you guys wearing? I hope there's good music! Don't you just love music? When will - "

Her relentless questions are cut off by the door to our apartment opening and an unfamiliar person moves through the porch into the living room. He's tall and lean, with thick black curls and dark blue eyes. He's wearing a black shirt and tie and rugged navy jeans, one hand holding tight onto a laptop case and the other towing a small suitcase behind him. He's distinctly good-looking, I realise with a slight blush. He stops in the doorway, attempting to smile.

"Hey," he says. "I'm assigned for this apartment? Room 5?"

"Ian!" waves Wheatley, moving over to stand with him. "I didn't know you were coming here!"

Ian does a double-take, his eyes wide. "Wheatley? I haven't seen you in ages! How've you been?"

Wheatley crosses the room and hugs Ian, beaming from ear to ear. As they break apart, Catherine butts in and asks the question I was just about to.

"You two know each other? How?"

"Yeah," Wheatley nods, leading Ian into the living room. "We were best friends in high school."

"So what happened?" the blonde presses.

Ian glances at Wheatley, uneasy. "He, um… left for the last year and I haven't seen him since."

There was an awkward silence with only the crackly sounds of the TV to fill it. The cheery Sunday morning had quickly changed. I attempt to break the ice with the newcomer – and what better way to do so than through food? **Hey**, **Ian, would you like some breakfast? **I sign, trying to look as if nothing had happened.

Unfortunately I am too used to people understanding me I am momentarily confused when he doesn't respond. In fact, he just stares at me like I'm completely insane. I flush furiously. I'd only managed to make this even more uncomfortable than it already was. Why couldn't I speak normally like everyone else? It would have made this a lot less difficult.

"Uh, this is Chell," Sam says, breaking the silence. "She's mute. She's asking you if you want some breakfast."

Ian has the courtesy to look profoundly embarrassed before nodding enthusiastically at me in apology. "Oh! I'm really sorry about that. Sure, I'd love some food - I'm starving! Just let me put my luggage in my room."

As soon as he disappears down the trapdoor a buzz of conversation breaks out. Wheatley's being bombarded with questions left right and centre and no-one notices my frantic signing over their own voices. I can see Ian coming back out through his hatch and if they're all still talking about him when he climbs out it's going to be even more uncomfortable than before. I dash to stand in front of Wheatley, abandoning my porridge on the counter and spreading my arms out wide beside me. Everyone stops talking, and I sigh in relief. I jerk my eyes meaningfully toward Ian as he scrambles out of the trapdoor and they nod in understanding. Wheatley looks much less worried; I've just saved him from a lot of probing questions – for now.

**I think we should all go and get dressed**; I sign, and wait for Sam to translate to Ian and C.C. **Leave Ian to get settled in and eat his breakfast, then maybe we can pick this up later.**

My dorm mates nod in agreement and we move to our separate rooms, Ian smiling at me by way of thanks. I beam back and clamber down into my bedroom, sighing as soon as the hatch shuts. So much for a lazy Sunday in my pyjamas.

I throw on some tight black jeans and black tank-top. Plain, I know, but it isn't like I'm trying to impress anyone. A brown belt is also added to the jeans before I move to my tiny bathroom. A thin layer of eyeliner and mascara is enough for me, and I also fix my ponytail, which looked a little untidy. I scrub my teeth clean, momentarily mourning my abandoned porridge on the kitchen counter, and then move up the ladder to my trapdoor. I'm desperately hoping I've given Ian enough time to settle down a bit.

I realise I've re-emerged first from my room. Ian and Wheatley (now dressed in his usual blue jeans and dress shirt) are talking quietly at the dining table, their backs to me. I wave in greeting as I enter the living room but they don't see me, so instead I make my way across to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and clear away my now-cold porridge. As I pass by them I catch a snippet of their conversation, blushing when I realise I'm probably not meant to hear it. I rush to exit the room as quickly as possible.

"Where did you go?" Ian is saying; it is meant to be kind but I can hear an undertone of irritation in his words.

"I just...went away for a while," Wheatley ducks the question.

"But there was no note, no text, not even a phone call," Ian says, worry creeping into his voice. "What happened?"

"I had to get out," Wheatley answers, so softly I barely heard him. "I just couldn't stand it any – "

They both look up in surprise as I turn the tap on and hold my glass underneath the stream. I smile and wave, praying that the embarrassed flush has left my cheeks. They wave back, glancing at each other, wondering how long I've been there and how much I've heard. The water ceases and I raise the glass to my lips before walking over and joining them at the table.

**Hi**, I sign to Ian, and Wheatley translates for me. **Did you get your breakfast?**

"Yeah, I did - thanks," he smiles, and it reaches all the way to his eyes. "Sorry, I don't think we've been properly introduced. My name is Ian Butter."

I shake his hand. **Michelle Dixon**, I sign. **But you can call me Chell.**

"Ian loves to bake," Wheatley grins, after translating my sentence. "Like cakes and stuff. I'm sure he'd make you one if you ask him nicely."

Ian shoots him a dark look before returning his attention to me. "Yeah, I'd love to make a cake for you – or with you? I'll ask the University for the ingredients so we can start in the evening. What do you say?"

**I'd love to**, I say, nodding. I've never made a cake before in my life and I'd always wanted to try. **It's really nice of you to offer.**

"No problem," he replies, his smile making it hard to breathe. C.C. comes to my rescue, popping her candyfloss curls out of her trapdoor and swearing profusely.

"Has anyone seen my goddamn silencer?!" she snaps – and that's the edited version of her sentence. Ian, Wheatley and I look at her, confused.

"For shooting, y'know?" she sighs. "Muffles the sound of the shot?"

"You've got a _gun_?" Ian asks, incredulous. "I didn't know the University allowed them!"

"It doesn't," she winks, hauling herself out of her trapdoor. "I've got a special pass."

She's wearing grey trackies and hoodie, a pair of bright pink earphones wrapped around her neck. I smile and wave in greeting and she returns the welcome.

"Oh yeah, Catherine's looking for you Chell," C.C. says rolling her eyes. "Something about your party outfit for this weekend."

**God help me**, I sign. **Wait, how do you know?**

C.C. takes a moment to figure out what I'm saying before she replies. "Heard her through the wall; for such a tiny thing she's so _loud_."

I groan. **Can I go with you if I help you find the silencer? I'm not sure I have the energy to talk to her right now.**

I say too much too fast and Wheatley has to interpret for me. C.C. looks at me apologetically and smiles.

"'Course; we'll go make a pass for you."

I raise to fingers, meaning: 'two minutes', and dash down to my room to grab my brown leather knee-high boots and my favourite pale orange jacket. Pulling them on, I move toward the ladder but I pause on the way back up, hearing my name mentioned in conversation. Were they talking _to_ me? Or..._about _me?

"I feel so stupid and awkward around Chell," C.C. is saying. "I wish I knew what she was saying all the time. I want to know sign language; I feel so embarrassed when she's waiting for me to respond and I've no idea what she's just said."

I stop, my palms slipping with sweat on the rungs, my heart thudding in my mouth. Do I make _everyone_ feel like this? _All_ of the time? Why haven't they said anything? C.C. …I consider her my best friend. I feel betrayed.

"I know what you mean," Ian says. "At least you know a little sign language – I don't know _any_. I felt ridiculous when we first met and she was trying to be nice and break the tension but I thought she was crazy; making weird signals with her hands. If only she could _talk_, it would make this so much easier."

I can feel tears brimming in my eyes. I'd never cried over something so trivial in such a long time – in fact, I haven't cried over _anything_ in a long time; I won't let myself. Are they _so_ uncomfortable around me it'll effect our friendship? I blink repeatedly until the blurriness of my vision cleared; quickly checking my cheeks weren't wet. I look up when I hear Wheatley's voice. He sounds angry.

"If only you could talk _her_ language, it would make this so much easier!" he snaps. "It's not her fault she's mute! How do you think Chell feels when she can't join in a conversation because no one will understand her? She's tried her best to work with this, learning sign language to communicate with other people, but it'll always be hard for her to make new friends – harder than it will be for everyone else. How do you think she feels when everyone looks at her like you did, like she's insane? She's probably upset about it enough already without her friends having doubts about _staying_ friends _just_ because she's mute!"

C.C. interrupts. "That's not what we were - "

Wheatley doesn't let her finish. "There's nothing _wrong _with her; I'm sure if one of you had a condition like hers she'd do her best to make you feel alright about it."

His outburst is met with a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of feet crossing the floor and slamming the porch door on their way out. I feel myself blushing; I didn't realise he cared so much. I decided it was probably time to reappear, so quickly scramble up the ladder and pretend I hadn't heard anything. When I enter the living room, I'm met with the guilty expressions of both C.C. and Ian. Wheatley must have been the one who stormed out.

As soon as C.C. catches sight of me she breaks into a wide grin and nudges Ian to do the same. I wave and - to my surprise – C.C. bounces over to me and wraps her arms around me in a hug. A little unsure, I hug back. After what she's just said…what do I do now?

"You got everything?" she asks, pulling away. "We should go before Catherine comes looking for you!"

**Yeah**, I sign, smiling as best I can. I can see the shame darkening her bright hazel eyes as she leads me outside, waving goodbye to Ian as we go. As soon as we step outside there's an awkward pause. But C.C.'s good at breaking silences so beckons me to follow her as we move across the campus, toward the main building and practical suites up the front, near the gates.

"See that white building there?" she asks pointing.

**White building?** I laugh. **They're all white buildings!**

"Okay, okay," she grins, running a hand through her spiky pink hair. "Bad description, sorry. The one with the red sign pinned up against the glass, on the front door. See it?"

I nod. **Yeah. What does the sign say?**

"You'll see," she winks, pulling me across the grass, ignoring the artistically styled winding gravel path that also leads to the door. The structure looks the same as every other; gleaming white-panelled walls, windows made from a heavy blue glass. But this one doesn't have any windows, I notice as we approach it. What's it hiding?

_STOP! AUTHORIZED PERSONEL ONLY!_

_WEAPONS CONTAINMENT AND TESTING UNIT_

_NO ENTRY WITHOUT A VALID SECURITY PASS_

**Ah**, I nod in understanding as I read the sign on the door. **So this is where you'll be doing your practical lessons on Weapons Technology?**

"Yeah, I've been practising in here for a while now," she says. "I work on defence technology, unlike those crazy Turret twins."

I tilt my head. **Turret twins?**

"Yeah," she pauses, her hand an inch from the door. "The albino sisters? They're taking their courses in Genetic Mutation and Weapons Technology – except _they_ actually design new ways to kill people, unlike me. Heard they tried to test out one of their transmutation projects on that bitch Gladys…ever wonder how she got that yellow eye?"

I stifle a laugh. **Really? I thought she was wearing contacts. That's honestly what happened to her? **

"Apparently, yeah," C.C. grins mischievously. "Now they've got a debt to pay to Gladys, so they've turned into her right hand men - always ready to back her up whenever she needs them."

She presses her hand against the blue-glass door and it examines the print left behind. The scan complete, it flashes green and the door slides back to let us inside. However, as soon as my foot crosses the threshold the entrance closes swiftly behind me and an alarm starts screeching. I cover my ears to block out the high-pitched shriek.

"Dammit, Finlay!" C.C. shouts, striding over to a small rectangular box standing vertical to the right of the door. Its roof is merged with the ceiling and a young man is sitting inside, looking panicked. "Turn the friggin' alarm off or I'm gonna make sure _you_ sound like that when I'm done!"

Finlay slams his fist down a small blue button and immediately the siren ceases in its wailing. Removing my hands from my ears, I watch as C.C. storms over to the booth's door and hauls it open. I feel kinda bad for Finlay, cowering from her wrath, but it's also really funny to watch. C.C. grabs him by the neck of his dark pink hoodie and pulls him toward her. He's physically shaking now.

"What the _hell_ was that all about?" she hisses. Finlay gulps. "You can see I've got a friend with me, why didn't you turn the_ goddamn_ alarm off?"

"Protocol states t-that you have t-to have a p-pass to enter," Finlay stutters, probably wishing he was anywhere else in the world right now than here. "I'm really s-sorry, Catriona, I s-swear!"

"I don't care what protocol says!" she yells. He shies away, but his hoodie stays wrapped tight in her fist. "You can damn well see I've got a friend with me so you'll damn well open the door for her!"

I stare, a little shocked. Why is C.C. being so harsh?

As soon as she finishes speaking the two burst out laughing. I'm slightly taken aback. C.C. slings her arm around Finlay's neck and leads him over to me. I just stand still, shocked. What the hell just _happened_? They see the expression on my face and they dissolve into another fit of giggles.

"Sorry Chell," C.C. says, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "I couldn't resist. Finlay and I pull pranks on people here all the time. We're actually good friends, honest!"

I nod, catching on.

"Finlay, this is Chell, Chell, this is Finlay Grey," C.C. introduces us. I shake his hand. He beams at me. He has light brown hair and silvery eyes resting on high cheekbones. He's not as attractive as Ian, but he has a child-like quality to his features that makes me smile.

"Can you make up a pass for Chell?" C.C. asks, and Finlay nods in response, moving away across the room and back into his rectangular control room. Catriona turns to me, grinning.

"Right then, let's get started!"

We move to a sliding panel on the left hand wall. As C.C. puts in her security pin number I let my gaze travel across the room. There's a large glass ceiling-high divider that is positioned down the centre of the room, one end connected to the corner of Finlay's control booth, the other to the back wall. Inside are small stands for resting ammunition on, and target sheets pinned up on grey boards on the furthest away wall. As usual, the floor, walls and ceilings are made up of the gleaming white panels the rest of the buildings are.

I turn around to see a section of those same panels slide back to reveal an enormous collection of weaponry; from guns and grenades to strange-looking futuristic bows and things I've never even seen before. Several boxes of ammunition squat underneath the arms' rack, labelled with various different safety warnings. I stare in a sort of horrified awe.

"My favourite is that grey pistol up there," C.C. says, pointing to it before fetching it from its holder. "Takes ten millimetre rounds, fires six before needing to reload."

**I thought you specialized in defence technology**! I say.

"Yeah, well," she smirks, grabbing a pair of earmuffs and black leather gloves. "It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

C.C. moves over to the glass divider, where Finlay buzzes her in and a small rectangular door swings outward, letting her inside the shooting range. I quickly grab a pair of earmuffs as well before heading toward the glass, watching from this side as Catriona starts her practise session. Beside each ammunition stand is a set of plastic goggles; she slips them on and then raises the firearm. Even with my earmuffs, the shots are ridiculously loud. I actually jump when the bullets tear through the target's canvas.

Throughout the course of the morning and early afternoon C.C. demonstrated the new technology she'd been working on, whether it was tweaking a trigger mechanism on one of the Turret's newest creations or something more dangerous. She also showed me some of the new weapons Gladys had been trying out, and I winced when I saw how perfectly accurate the firing system was. Just knowing that someone as cruel and calculating as Gladys had produced these was enough to make me just a little scared.

I'd had several run-ins with the blonde over my two weeks here, and none of them were pleasant. Names she'd called me like: 'fat' 'crazy' 'mute lunatic', came to mind whenever someone spoke of her. She'd also offered me cake once, but, knowing what she was like, I declined. It was probably made with arsenic. Funnily enough though, I hadn't come across her right hand men, not even once. Was C.C. making them up?

We finish for the day and make our way into the late afternoon sunshine; I'd been so focused on C.C.'s demonstrations I'd completely forgotten about lunch. We walk idly across the campus, an uneasy silence between us. Memories of what had happened earlier pop into my head and I can't help but feel a little troubled. Is all that fun we've had today a lie?

All at once C.C. turns to face me, tears sparkling in her silvery eyes. I'm a little shocked; I've never seen Catriona cry, or look discouraged by anything at all. If anyone ever threw an insult her way she'd turn it on its head and sent it right back with her usual roguish grin on her face. So what could possibly be upsetting her?

"Come with me," she says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me across the grass to a small copse of trees. I hadn't noticed the pines before; they were just off-side of the practical suites, surrounded by a patch of rough grass and wildflowers. When we're safely inside C.C. collapses on the grass, gasping for breath.

**Catriona!** I say, down on my knees in front of her**. What's wrong?**

"You heard, didn't you?" her voice is barely whisper. "You heard Ian and me, talking about you this morning."

I bite my lip and then nod.

"I'm so sorry," she looks up, into my eyes. "My family and my friends are the most important things to me; I may come off a little arrogant and self-centred, pining for attention, but the moment I said those things I felt like I'd betrayed your trust. I'm so, _so_ sorry, Chell. I never meant to hurt you."

I smile in relief. She doesn't hate me. She is apologising. I hold her in a tight embrace and she is momentarily shocked before hugging back.

**I forgive you**, I sign, beaming, as she wipes away her tears. **Wheatley was right though, it's hard making friends when I'm like this. But it's okay; I was just worried you didn't **_**want**_** to be friends anymore, that you were sick of me. **

She shakes her head. "No, I'm not, I swear. I'll make it up to you. How about you teach me sign language so I can talk properly with you? And I'll take you out for ice cream every day - my treat."

I laugh. **What am I, five? You're bribing me with ice cream! But…I accept. I'd love to teach you sign language.**

"Well, well, isn't this a sweet little meet?"

We both glance up before scrambling to our feet. I don't need to though; I knew who was speaking without even having to see their face.

Gladys moves out from between the pines in her tight white PVC dress and killer stilettoes. She's smiling maliciously, yellow eye almost glowing in the shadows. My eyes flicker toward C.C.; her tears have vanished and her usual mischievous grin dances across her lips. I desperately wish I have her confidence, but I put on a brave face and turn to Gladys. I will never let her see how much she intimidates me.

"What do _you_ want?" asks C.C., looking vaguely bored.

"Nothing, nothing," Gladys says. Her eyes haven't moved from my face. "Needing some comfort, were we, Catriona?"

"Ugh, shut up, Gladys," C.C. snapped suddenly. I've never known her to lose her temper. "You're not being smart, or cool, and no-one's here to back you up anyway. Just leave us alone."

There's a tense pause, where nobody moves. Gladys's features don't even twitch, and I sigh. This little confrontation we always have with the blonde is getting old.

"Well, if you don't mind," says C.C., taking my arm and leading me toward the side of the copse. "We'll be getting along then."

"Goodbye." Gladys replies. "I'll see you later, mute."

I shiver, feeling her eyes burning into the back of my skull, and we make our way back to the apartment in silence. When we open the door we're greeted by the beaming faces of Ian, Sam, Catherine and Wheatley. We tell them our afternoon was uneventful, and yes, we're looking forward to the party at the weekend and no, we're not sure what we're wearing and yes, we _are_ a little tired and yes, we'd love to go and have a lie down.

C.C. stays in my room that night in a mass of extra pillows and blankets, and we stay up into the early hours of the morning practising sign language. I feel bad for missing out on my cake-making session with Ian that evening but he promises tomorrow instead, the ingredients will keep. When I fall asleep that night, I see only the black mistiness of my own mind in my dreams…

…and one glowing yellow eye.


End file.
